


To Fall Down At Your Door

by Sylphidine_Gallimaufry



Series: Tales of Nightmare Dork University [6]
Category: Nightmare Dork University - Fandom, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, NDU - Freeform, Nightmare Dork University, Nightmare Galleon, Songfic, sweet like diabetes, this was supposed to be sexy and ended up sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 05:29:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12834315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry/pseuds/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry
Summary: A victory dance taken off the playing field.  And we all know what dancing leads to, don't we?





	To Fall Down At Your Door

Pitchiner was playing that damned song AGAIN.

This time, the big lout hadn’t even waited to unpack from his road trip for the latest away game before cranking up his stereo speakers.  A room and half a hallway away, Pitch closed his laptop, crossed his arms and put his head down on them with a heartfelt groan.

_Da da da lat da (Da da da lat da), da da da lat da (Da da da lat da)_  
_Da-da-lat-da-da-da-lat-da la la la_

_Da da da lat da (Da da da lat da), da da da lat da (Da da da lat da)_  
_Da-da-lat-da-da-da-lat-da la la la_

Somewhere over the course of the last three semesters, the song had become an anthem for one erstwhile Cossimo Pitchiner, every time the lacrosse team won an away game in the spring or had a great scrimmage in the fall. Pitch Black shuddered to realize he’d actually assimilated certain sports terminology from his behemoth of a  bedmate.  Before university, the word “scrimmage” would have been completely meaningless to him. _  
_

Pitch knew all the stages of this post-win ritual of Coz’s by heart now.  First, the athlete would cook up a huge stir fry for both of them, singing [poorly but lustily] and dancing [enthusiastically but not well] around the kitchen, punctuating his cutting-board knife-strokes with scrambled verses from the song.  He never sang the verses in order, nor did he sing the entire song. 

[And just  _how_  Pitch knew what order the verses went in, or the completeness of the lyrics, was one of those secrets that the drama major wished to take to the grave unspoken.]

Next would be Coz’s insistent finger-drumming rhythm, perfectly timed with the song beats, on the armrest of the couch while they watched movies that Pitch wanted to watch and to which Pitchiner would graciously concede [smirking all the while].

Lastly, when it was time to retire for the night, Pitchiner would scoop Pitch up in his arms, carry him off to the bedroom, toss him on the bed and ravish him, singing out-of-tune all the while, marking him with bites and scratches as emphasis points, verse by verse and repetitive nonsense chorus upon nonsense chorus.  Pitch would squawk and curse and hiss and bite back as hard or harder than the bites he was given, claw and twist and revel in sheer carnality and ferocity, no matter how banal the background noise.

 _When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be_  
_I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you_  
_And when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream_  
_I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you_

That was the verse Coz never sang.  That was the verse spilling out of the stereo speakers right now.

The quote “Beneath the music of a farther room” came to Pitch’s mind now, unbidden.   For most of their lives, he and Piki had watched their parents and relatives being social without true connection, measuring out their lives in coffee spoons rather than in time spent in real togetherness.

There were only so many lacrosse games left in his and Pitchiner’s time together at NDU.  

 

Pitch uncoiled himself from his desk chair and set off down the hall to surprise Pitchiner with tables-turned, steps-taken-out-of-order ravishment, just for a change. 

**Author's Note:**

> Someday I will be able to write more graphic sexytimes.
> 
> Also, blame David Tennant and The Proclaimers for this one.


End file.
